Benedict Cumberbatch rules his ranch with an iron fist in Jane Campion's extraordinary The Power of the Dog |
In Montana in 1925, two brothers run a ranch. George (Jesse
Plemons) is polite, formal and quiet, seemingly under the thumb of his aggressively
macho, bullying brother Phil (Benedict Cumberbatch). Phil is fully “hands-on”
on the ranch, priding himself on being able to perform every task, from rope weaving
to bull skinning, all of which he learned from his deceased mentor “Bronco”
Henry. Things change though when George marries Rose (Kirsten Dunst). Phil
takes an immediate dislike to Rose, engaging into a campaign of psychological
bullying that drives Rose to drink. However, at the same time a strange bond develops
between Phil and Rose’s student son Peter (Kodi Smit-McPhee) – is Phil’s
interest in the boy part of a campaign to destroy Rose or are there other
forces at work?
Campion’s film (her first in over ten years) is a
fascinating series of narrative turns and genre shifts. It opens like a gothic
Western. The ranch is a huge, isolated house surrounded by rolling fields and
its own rules. Phil is an awe-inspiring, still-living Rebecca with Rose a Second
Mrs de Winter having to share a bathroom with the perfect first wife. The
psychological war Phil launches against Rose, like a hyper-masculine Mrs
Danvers, seems at first to be heading towards a plot where we will see a
vulnerable woman either crushed or fighting back. Then Campion shifts gears
with incredible professional ease; the kaleidoscope shifts and suddenly our
perceptions change along with the film’s genre, which becomes something
strikingly different.
This all revolves around the character of Phil. Excellently
played (way against type) by Benedict Cumberbatch, in a hugely complex
performance, Phil at first seems an obvious character. A bully and alpha male
who mocks George as “Fatso”, hurls homophobic slurs at Rose’s sensitive,
artistic son and would-be doctor Pete, and treats his duties with such
masculine reverence that the idea of wearing gloves to skin a cow or washing
the dirt of his labour from him is anathema.
But look at Phil another way and you see his vulnerability. The
opening scenes play as a torrent of abuse to George. But look again and you see
this is a man desperately trying multiple angles to clumsily engage his brother
in joint reminiscences. His emotional dependence on George is so great that
they still share a single bedroom in their giant house (and even a bed in a
guest house, like Morecambe and Wise) and he weeps on their first night apart.
Despite his brutish appearance, his conversation is littered with classical and
literary allusions (we discover later he is a Yale Classics graduate). His life
is devoid of emotional and physical contact and he maintains a hidden retreat in
the woods, a private den the only place we see him relax.
He’s a man clinging desperately to the past. At first it
feels like he has never grown up, that he is still a boy at heart. But Campion
slowly reveals his emotional bonds to his deceased mentor Bronco (whom he
refers to almost constantly in conversation) to be far deeper and more complex
than first anticipated. He treats Bronco’s remaining belongings with reverence,
maintaining a shrine to him in the barn and cleaning his saddle with more
tenderness and care than he feels able to show any human being. The depths of
this relationship are crucial to understanding Phil’s character and the emotional
barriers he has constructed. His gruff aggression hides a deep isolation and
loneliness, feelings Campion explores with profound empathy in the film’s
second half.
That doesn’t change the monstrousness of the bullying Phil
enacts on Rose. Played with fragile timidity by Kirsten Dunst, Rose becomes so
grimly aware of Phil’s loathing that is too paralysed by intimidation to even
play Strauss on her newly purchased piano in front of George’s distinguished
guests (Phil pointedly plays the music far better on his banjo and takes to
whistling in in Rose’s presence) and later tips into alcoholic incoherence.
Despite Dunst’s strong performance, if the film has a flaw
it is that we don’t quite invest in Rose enough to empathise fully with her
emotional collapse. Both she and George (a fine performance of not-too-bright-decency
from Plemons, in the least flashy role) disappear for stretches and play out
parts of their relationship off camera, making it harder to bond with them (a
bond the earlier part of the film needs). It perhaps might have been more
effective to centre the film’s opening act on Rose rather than Phil, allowing
us to relate to her better and feel her decline more.
Dunst however nails Rose’s growing fear, desperation and
depression while her status as an unwelcome guest is constantly forced on her. Her
panic only deepens with the return of her son Peter. This is where the film
takes a series of unexpected shifts. To the surprise of all Phil offers to take
the sensitive, quiet Pete under his wing: perhaps he’s impressed by Pete’s
indifference to the homophobic abuse from the ranch-hands, perhaps he sees a
chance to spiritually resurrect his mentor by playing the same role himself to
Phil (pointedly, the film implies the younger Phil may not have been dissimilar
from Pete). Either way, Campion’s film heads into its extraordinary and deeply
impactful second half as an unsettling and uncertain personal drama between two
men who seem totally different but may perhaps have more similarities than
expected.
As Peter, Kodi Smit-McPhee gives a wonderfully judged performance of inscrutability and reserve. He’s an artistic boy who creates detailed paper flowers and keeps artistic scrapbooks, but can dissect animals without a flinch and snaps the neck of an injured rabbit with ease. He seems alternately devoted to his mother then queasily distant from her, calling her Rose and unsettled by her drunken inappropriateness. His motivations remain enigmatic, just as Phil’s motivations for befriending this isolated and very different boy could fall either way. Smit-McPhee and Cumberbatch are both extraordinarily good in the scenes between this unlikely partnership, and Campion’s artful film keeps us on our toes as to precisely what they want from this friendship. The result is haunting.
It leads into a stunning final act which demands we re-evaluate
all we have seen and leaves such a lasting impression I was still re-living the
film in my mind days later. Campion’s film is masterfully shot and carries a
wonderful atmosphere of intimidation and unease, helped hugely by Johnny
Greenwood’s brilliant score with its unsettling piano-inspired cadences. It
reinvents itself constantly, Campion’s direction shifting tone and genre
masterfully. It’s quite brilliantly acted and provides Cumberbatch in
particular with an opportunity he seizes upon to slowly reveal depths of
emotion and vulnerability an outwardly straight-forward monster. There won’t be
many finer films released in 2021: and this will be a classic to sit alongside The
Piano in Campion’s work.
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